At noon, young Marchis and the wealthy man were playing a game of chess. The man was extremely difficult to defeat; his moves and calculations were far beyond anything Marchis had ever witnessed.
The boy kept losing again and again — at least a hundred matches. Yet he did not give up. Each time he lost, he simply reset the board and challenged the man again.
Failure did not discourage him.
It only sharpened his focus.
Farhinstone
Atiarnad and Mr. Svandhill were also playing a game of chess.
Atiarnad slowly moved a piece forward, placing Svandhill in check.
"Hm… you have devised quite an executable plan," he said calmly. "Do you truly believe it will succeed?"
His sharp gaze locked onto Svandhill's blue eyes.
Mr. Svandhill remained composed. With a smooth motion, he countered the check and pushed Atiarnad into a losing position.
"I see no reason why it wouldn't work," he replied quietly.
Atiarnad suddenly laughed.
"Hahaha… impressive move, young man."
He leaned back slightly.
"What is the name of this school of yours?"
Mr. Svandhill met his gaze without hesitation.
"Orange School."
Newland
Marchis suddenly jumped up from his seat.
"No! Why do I keep losing?!"
The wealthy man chuckled softly.
"You are simply inexperienced, boy. But your growth is exponential. At this rate, you might defeat me sooner than you think."
That night, Marchis returned to the forest.
Moving deeper into the darkness, he entered a cave. The damp air was thick with the scent of earth and moss as he searched carefully.
Hours passed.
Finally, he found it.
A strange purple flower.
When exposed to fire, its petals would slowly turn yellow — and if cooled immediately with water, the transformation would stabilize. The flower itself was unusually durable; it resisted burning despite direct flame.
Marchis carefully plucked it.
When he returned home, he spent several more hours preparing it.
With delicate precision, he processed the flower and finally added it to the bluish-black liquid he had created earlier.
The moment the mixture touched the liquid, a reaction occurred.
The dark fluid slowly transformed.
It turned into a pure golden color.
Marchis stared at it for a moment before tasting a small drop.
The flavor was unexpectedly sweet.
Almost like honey.
Suddenly—
Blood began flowing from his eyes.
He coughed violently, blood spilling onto the floor before his vision darkened.
His body collapsed.
When he woke up, two days had already passed.
Marchis slowly stood up, his body weak but his eyes calm.
He looked at the golden liquid.
"Success."
The next morning, he carried it with him to the wealthy man's house.
Each time the man prepared food or drinks, Marchis would quietly add a small amount of the golden liquid.
At first, nothing seemed different.
But at night, the wealthy man began coughing blood.
This continued for several days.
Eventually, the wealthy man visited a healer.
The healer carefully examined his entire body before speaking.
"There is nothing wrong with you."
The wealthy man nodded slowly.
On his way home, a quiet thought crossed his mind.
"I suppose… I am getting old. Perhaps my time is approaching."
Newland — Marchis' Home
Young Marchis was drenched in sweat.
He had been training for hours.
After finally resting, he leaned back and thought silently.
"Will my plan work?"
At the same time, inside the wealthy man's mansion, the man had begun dividing his property.
A large portion was donated to charity and to poor children.
A smaller portion…
Was left to Marchis.
Day 20
Young Marchis wore a black robe.
His curly hair reached his ears, and at the age of twelve he already stood around 5.7 feet tall. His body had become noticeably more muscular.
He looked nothing like his past self.
In his previous life, he had been weak, unattractive, and filled with bad habits.
But in just twenty days, he had transformed himself completely.
Step by step.
Discipline replacing weakness.
He slowly walked toward the wealthy man's house.
They spent the entire day together — talking, laughing, and passing time like a father and son.
The mansion echoed with a warmth it had not felt in years.
As evening approached, Marchis looked at the old man and smiled faintly.
"Hey, old man…"
"Let's play one more game of chess."